


Prologue

by 1848pianist



Series: Miles to Go Before I Sleep [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Fluff, Germany, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Tourism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2326247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1848pianist/pseuds/1848pianist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, how they met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first finished work of any substance since the beginning of the year, and I started writing it in March. Whew!
> 
> I intended for this to be a prologue to the entire Miles to Go series, but just realized that Jehan and Combeferre hadn't yet met in Airports and Anticipation. So this is an AU within an AU, and also a chance to read more JehanFerre fluff, of which there is never enough. Take this as a prologue anyway, or, if you can't ignore my inconsistencies just read it as a separate story in the same vein. Enjoy!

It had taken nearly all of Combeferre’s savings to pull off a summer trip to Germany, but so far the visit had proved more than worthwhile. He had no practical reasons for travelling to Europe or Germany in particular, only a whim and a vague desire to see buildings older than his country’s founding. This was not at all his normal method of travel, but his parents were firm believers in the benefits of pre-university, international exploration, so here he was.

Here, specifically, was climbing the long, steep, exhausting slope to Neuschwanstein. At the top, a family of Japanese tourists were waving and applauding the group slowly making their way to the castle. Combeferre was grateful for the encouragement, even though he wasn’t entirely sure they were waving at him.

At any rate, once he made it to the top he found he still had twenty minutes before the tour began, and since he was in no mood to continue on the uphill path to the lookout on the next mountain, he sat down by a wall and tried to avoid being stepped on. He closed his eyes against the bizarrely bright German sun.

“Hello,” said a voice. “Would you mind taking a picture of me?”

Combeferre looked up at a skinny, freckled boy with a ponytail tied loosely at the back of his neck. He was dressed in unusually matched, loose-fitting clothes and didn’t seem at all tired by the hike.

“Sure,” Combeferre replied.

“Oh, good, you speak English,” the boy said in an accented voice. “I’m Jehan, by the way, and I don’t speak a word of German other than ‘gesundheit’.”

“My name’s Combeferre, and neither do I.” He accepted the camera, which was fairly high-tech, concentrating on focusing the lens rather than the cluster of freckles at Jehan’s collarbone. Expanding his horizons did not extend to uncommonly attractive English boys.

“Thanks,” said Jehan. “Normally I’m the one behind the camera, but I need proof that was actually here. It’s for school.” He shrugged. “What about you?”

“Just interested,” Combeferre replied. He found himself inexplicably drawn to Jehan, with his excitable energy and sparkling eyes. _Sparkling eyes?_ he asked himself, but it was true; they were lit up with interest at as he gazed up at the palace.

“Ready to go?” Jehan asked. Combeferre nodded, following him through the ticket gate and into the entrance. They began ascending a narrow, spiraling staircase to the first floor, passing windows offering incredible views of the surrounding Alps every few turns. At the first window, Jehan stopped suddenly in front of Combeferre, who peered over the slender boy’s shoulder to admire the mountains. Then he realized that Jehan was seemed frozen in fear rather than amazement.

“Are you alright?”

“Don’t like heights,” Jehan replied shortly.

“You can do it,” Combeferre encouraged him. “You made it up the mountain.”

“That’s different, it’s outside, and I can stay on the inside of the path,” Jehan said, jaw locked.

Combeferre moved to the outside of the staircase, blocking the window from Jehan’s sight.

“Better?” Jehan nodded stiffly. Once at the top, he broke away from Combeferre to press against the far wall, looking embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he said.

“For what?” Combeferre asked. Jehan gave him a grateful smile in return. The moment passed as the guide began giving his scripted, yet intriguing, spiel on the palace’s history.

“Feeling better?” Combeferre asked after a while. Jehan nodded, though Combeferre could see his legs still shaking and the way he jumped whenever they passed by a window. Combeferre provided a distraction by keeping up a running commentary to fill in the gaps of the tour guide’s slight language barrier.

To further keep his mind off their distance from the ground, Jehan admired every detail of the painted walls and ceilings of the palace. Noticing this, Combeferre mentioned Wagner, the composer of the operas the art was based on, and much-admired friend of the king, if not the general public.

Jehan smiled for the first time since climbing the staircase at the entrance. “Quite a story, isn’t it?” The mad king of Bavaria and the hated opera composer.”

“Not to mention the obsessions with architecture, avoiding society, and dying under mysterious circumstances,” Combeferre added.

“The murals will certainly give me a topic for my paper,” Jehan mused, examining a depiction of Tristan and Isolde. “It’s quite a tragedy, though. Ludwig went to all the trouble of supporting Wagner, only to be forced to submit to public outrage. Then he spent so much of his own money on this place, only to die with it unfinished, hardly having lived in it.”

“I suppose we must hope he enjoyed it while he had it,” Combeferre said.

“Just as we must enjoy each other’s company in the present,” Jehan replied. “I never asked, where are you from?”

“America, specifically Chicago. I’m a student there.” Combeferre pushed up his glasses, suddenly aware of how much he was actually enjoying his time with Jehan, who seemed to know everything there was to know about architecture. “What about you?” he asked quickly.

“A student, like you,” Jehan answered. “Only based in London.”

“Two city scholars, then.”

“With a fascination for Romantic art and tragic Bavarian kings, apparently.”

“Neuschwanstein was better than the Olympic stadium,” Combeferre joked, inviting a laugh from Jehan. “I’m not much for sports.”

“So you’re staying in Munich, then?” Jehan inquired.

“Just outside,” Combeferre confirmed. “And only for a few days, I’m afraid.”

“Maybe we could find time for a tour of the city before we depart,” Jehan suggested. “I’ve heard some interesting stories about the history of the place.”

“I’m always up for interesting history with fascinating company.”

Jehan blushed. “I think we’re losing the tour group,” he said hastily.

*

Once outside, they found the walk down the mountain much easier than the hike up.

“We could go hunt down a sandwich shop or the like,” Jehan offered. “Probably we’d spend our life’s savings, but.” He shrugged, somehow indicating ‘the price to be paid for tourism’ with a single gesture.

Combeferre smiled, apologetic. “I’ve go to get back to Munich, unfortunately. Perhaps we could exchange phone numbers and meet again tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Jehan rummaged around his backpack, procuring a pen and scribbling a number in green ink on a spare scrap of paper, which he handed it to Combeferre. “Call me whenever you’re ready to wander the city. Be prepared for the adventure of your life.”

“I will.” Combeferre felt more than a little dazed at the prospect of spending an entire day roaming Munich with Jehan, much as he would deny it.

“See you tomorrow!”

It wasn’t until Combeferre was gone that Jehan realized his phone was missing. In a panic, he ran back to Neuschwanstein, only to realize that it was closing for the night. He suspected his phone was long gone, anyway.

*

The next day, Combeferre listened to ring after ring, but no answering machine and no Jehan. He assumed that Jehan had changed his mind about meeting again with someone barely more than a total stranger. Combeferre returned home at the end of the week, trying to concentrate on his research rather than Jehan.

*

A few weeks later, he was scanning forums for discussions relevant to a paper on German palaces – inspired, of course, by his recent vacation. In the midst of a long, highly obscure post on Romantic interpretation of a particular medieval legend, he felt a flash of recognition. The writer clearly knew exactly what he was talking about, and comfortable enough with the subject to make little jokes that a fellow expert could, if they were particularly alert, laugh along with. The sharp wit reminded him, painfully, of Jehan. He looked at the user’s profile, which confirmed his suspicions. It was Jehan, without a doubt. Hesitantly, he composed a message and sent it.

_Hello, it’s Combeferre from Neuschwanstein. How’s your paper going?_

He didn’t really expect a reply, or at least, not an especially friendly one. Asking about academics seemed a safer topic than bringing up unanswered phone calls. He debated adding something about Jehan’s unquestionably brilliant post, but decided against it. The reply, however, was almost instantaneous.

_Hi Combeferre! I am SO sorry about Munich. I think someone stole my phone. The paper is going great – plenty write about where Wagner is concerned._

_That’s good to hear!_ Combeferre replied. _Sorry about your phone._

_Oh, don’t worry about me. I hope you weren’t too badly disappointed._

_I’ll survive somehow. I wish we could see each other again, though. It seems we still have a lot to talk about._

_I do, too._

Their conversation continued like that for a few minutes until Jehan abruptly changed the subject.

_How do you feel about long-distance relationships?_


End file.
